


Pull Me Under

by DuneAshes



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Public Sex, Unsafe Sex, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuneAshes/pseuds/DuneAshes
Summary: Nick and Troy stay at the Bazaar, but their private paradise crumbles under the weight of having nothing to give soon after.





	Pull Me Under

The Bazaar is not his home, will never be -- Nick knows this, knows with every fibre in his body that the decision he's making is not the wisest one, that sticking together with his family is the only real thing he has left in this world. He knows that in this moment, for the first and only time in his life, letting go of his mother's hand and watching her go means abandoning her forever. 'A few days,' he says, eyes dimmed with the last rush of urgency and adrenalie, and Madison nods, looking at his face as if she believed that he will truly come back. She didn't, of course, she knew him too well. He was her only son and if there was anyone Madison knew like the back of her hand, it was Nick.

Nick is not Alicia. He's past believing into anything beyond the primal circle of life and death, the simple rule of danger and survival with not much in between. Troy has his back, and for days, weeks even, life is fairly normal and almost -- almost -- enjoyable. They harvest, bathe in blood, come back, then go again. They have coin and shelter and drugs, and honestly it's more than Nick has ever wanted in his life before the hell broke loose. 

They have each other, too. 

The Bazaar might not be a five star hotel worth of accommodation, but it's free of the dead and as good a place to stay as any, if not better. They have food and water and people around, opportunities to take, a life to --maybe-- have. Nick is not sure what kind of life that might be, but he's almost certain he will figure it out soon enough.  
He has to, he is tired of running.

One day, the dead stop coming. 

They search, of course they do. They bring a few in the end, three old heads of those who turned months ago and weren't worth anything beyond an annoyed gaze of their patron. 

'That all?' The man asks, shaking his head at Nick and wiping beads of sweat from his temples, 'That right there ain't looking good, lads.'

Nick shrugs. Troy gives him a concerned look as they walk away.

It's the second week of poor harvest that Troy finally confronts him about it. 

'We are almost out of resources,' Troy sighs, tugging at Nick's sleeve as the other tries to brush past him. 'Two, maybe three more days and they will kick us out of the room. Out of here, probably. We need plan B.'

'I don't -- Troy, just --' Nick bites his lip, forcing himself to look the other man in the eye as he speaks. 'I know you're itching to get out of here, man, but can't you be a little more cooperative for a second? A slightly more invested in trying to stay where you won't get us both killed?'

Troy frowns, tightening his grip. 'That's not what I meant. I will stay where you are, but we need to -- think. How to get what we need in another way. You're not exactly low maintanance, Nick.'

It's Nick's turn to frown, anger bubbling beneath his skin at the remark. He's been taking, ever since arriving at the Bazaar and discovering just how much it can do for him, and he knows he shouldn't, he knows it's a waste of what they have, but fuck if he cares about anything anymore. He wants to punch Troy straight in the face for even saying that stupid shit, for preaching, high and mighty as if he wasn't the source of most evil in Nick's life for the past few months. That jerk, that --

But Nick stops to remember that Alicia, Madison and everyone else is gone, that Troy is all he has now. However messed up they were, they were in this together, flaws and assets and every possible outcomes of what might happen in the future resting in their hands and no one else's. 

Together. 

'Plan B it is, then.' 

Plan B comes to him surprisingly effortlessly. 

It's loud and crowded when it happens, the nightlife of the Bazaar the closest thing to Nick's past he can remember since the outbreak. People are drinking and smoking all around him, drowning in conversation and cheap beer with wandering hands and eyes. One of those hands lands on him. 

Nick raises his eyebrows in question, eyeing a palm that found its way to his thigh. He blinks. 

'Hey, pretty boy. You looking for something?'

Right. He was. What was he...? The ground shifts slightly below his feet and Nick stumbles forward inadvertently, in the general direction of the voice addressing him.

'Whoa! Drank a lot, didn't you?' A musky chuckle, which Nick ignores. All he knows is that he's caught seconds before falling face down to the ground, steadied by a pair of strong arms circling around his waist and pushing him to sit awkwardly in someone's lap a minute later. His head is spinning. 

'He definitely did. Took something too, probably. What did you swallow, pretty? Pills? Muertos insides?'

'He probably knows all about the good stuff...'

After a few strained seconds of impassive listening, Nick forces himself to indulge in the situation he's caught himself in. It's a group of few men, your typical neighborhood gangster slash drug lord type, all in a tight circle hunched over what seemed to be an impressive pile of Bazaar tokens. Some beer, cigarettes, food leftovers --

'You with us, pretty?'

Nick shakes his head, not as much in denial as in an attempt to sober up. He definitely went overboard today, and Troy was gone, lost somewhere in the crowd and away from him. He needed to find Troy, that's what he knew.

'I, eh, listen, I have to go find my friend.' Nick mutters, half hoping that it will be that easy to walk away, but instantly realizing it won't - and not only because of meaty arms crushing his ribs in a mock-embrace. 'Like, really.' 

His senses are dulled but he's still very aware that he's sitting in another man's lap, crotch to crotch. He takes a quick glance around just to realize that no one's paying attention, that everyone's busy with their own thing - screaming at each other, trading, dancing, kicking empty beer bottles, playing cards, smoking, getting wasted -- 

A sea of nameless faces in this decadent night hour, Nick an individual among them. A face they probably wouldn't remember the next day, just like he won't theirs. 

'I thought you were going?' The damn mobster holding him in his lap chuckles, taking Nick's chin between his fingers and turning his head back. 'You can, of course, stay. Me and my boys would appreciate your company."

They look at him intently, all the same, balding and old and honestly gross, but Nick doesn't move. He knows an opportunity when he sees one and an opportunity he's been needing for a longer while now, so...

He licks his lips. Can he really?

'Oh yeah?' He breathes out, voice barely above a whisper and apparently going straight to the cock underneath him, because the next second he knows he's sitting on rock hardness, digging uncomfortably into his own delicate parts. 'And what's in it for me?'

He can purr when he has to. Sex voice has never been that difficult to master. 

'Don't you worry about it, doll.'

Nick doesn't know what he's been expecting, but certainly not his pants being roughly yanked down on the spot and the man fighting with his own fly a heartbeat after. His pulse speeds up at the realization that they're going to do it here, in the middle of this crowd, and that there's nothing that can be done about it now, not after he agreed. The frantic thought sobers him up enough to panic, but it's too late for anything beside a small yelp as the man forces his spit-slicked fingers inside Nick, the surrealistic agony of intrusion once again muting his inner voice of reason. 

Something is shoved inside his mouth and Nick doesn't really protest, instinctively wrapping his tongue around the pill -- Rohypnol? GHB? -- and swallowing. Surely they wouldn't try to kill him here, and everything besides death he will welcome.

'Be good to us and we'll be good to you.' The man whispers as he grabs Nick's hips and impales him on his hard erection, forcing open the tight ring of muscle that haven't really been used all that much recently. Nick bites back a scream, hands finding purchase on the other man's shoulders.

It's seconds or minutes before his mind is pleasantly cloudy again, sweetness of the drug humming inside his veins and blood filling up his own erection. He leans forward and chuckles, hanging mere milimeters above the other man's face. 'Good?' He finds himself say, but the voice is distant and distorted, a sound he almost doesn't recognize. The man groans underneath him. 

Nick starts riding him with renewed vigor, in rhythm with music and voices around them; somewhat aware that people are staring but not exactly caring. 

Next morning, Nick wakes up in his bed and the first thing he sees after opening his eyes is that bizzare, sweet and sour expression on Troy's face that he doesn't remember ever seeing before.


End file.
